


When the World is Torn Apart

by seventhstrike



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstrike/pseuds/seventhstrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is tired of looking after his brother, but he knows he has to do it because no one else will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the World is Torn Apart

It’s been four days since dad left. Sam has eaten all of the cereal and drank all the milk. Dean returns to the motel room, unlocking it slowly, and checks inside before letting his brother in.

“Dean,” Sam whines, drawing out the vowels in Dean’s name, “I don’t want anymore grilled cheese. You made it yesterday. Why do we always have to eat stupid food you like? I hate it.”

“You’ve been saying that the entire walk back from the store,” Dean grit out. Sam rolls his eyes and runs over to one of the beds, grabs the remote control for the television, and turns it on. “Hey, aren’t you going to help me?”

“No, that’s boring,” Sam replies without looking away from the television set. He’s flipping through the guide, looking for something interesting. “Hey Dean, what’s a meelf?”

“A—wha—?” Dean sputters. He quickly pushes the two bags of food on top of the mini fridge and in two long, quick strides, he is standing beside Sam. He plucks the remote from his brother’s hands and quickly hits some buttons at random. “Nothing you want to watch, Sam. It’s boring,” he adds. He hands the remote back to Sam.

“Dean,” he whines again, “now I’ve gotta start all over.” Dean shrugs. Sam fumes.

Dean walks back to the mini-fridge (momentarily blocking the TV, which causes Sam to throw a pillow at him) and crouches down to begin putting some of the food into the fridge. He hastily shoves in a litre of milk, six eggs, a block, and a small block of cheddar cheese and then tries to cram four TV dinners into the tiny ‘freezer’ at the top. He pulls out his switchblade from his pocket to cut off some of the ice that has congealed around the flap to the freezer. Once he’s done, he’s able to fit the fourth TV dinner in. He closes the door to the fridge and stands up and then turns to watch his brother. He’s staring, open-mouthed, at the television as it shows images of spiders and octopodes, with a voiceover pointing out which are the most venomous. Dean rolls his eyes and flips up the covers of the other bed so that he can flop onto it. He hasn’t slept on the covers of a motel bed since he saw those creepy people having sex one time. Since then, he’s always gingerly peeled back the covers; always afraid that there’s something that hasn’t been washed off. He’s fine with all of the other nasty shit they find in the motel rooms: weird bugs, leftover underwear, dirty towels, and strange stains on the carpet. But now that he knows what goes on, he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Hey Sammy, you got any homework today?”

“Mm,” comes the nonverbal reply. He turns his head to see Sam, perched on the edge of the bed, the remote clutched in his hands.

“Ey Sammy, homework?”

“Shut up Dean,” he replies with an absent wave of his hand.

“Ugh,” Dean says, and then turns over. After lying on his side for a few more minutes and listening to the ridiculous narrator voiceover – ‘The blue-ringed octopus is one of the most venomous marine animals in the world! They normally hunt shrimp, but may just choose to gobble you up if you get too close!’ – he decides that he needs to get out. He stands up and for the first time, Sam tears his eyes away from the TV.

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks, glancing back to the television for a second, but then watching as his brother stalks across the room.

“Out,” Dean replies, “I’m sick of these motel rooms.” Sam nods in understanding. “Don’t forget about your homework, yeah?”

“Huh?” Sam asks, but then adds: “oh, right, yeah. It’s easy. I finished it in class when the teacher was explaining it.”

“Nerd.”

“Jerk.” Dean grins. “I’m going to the park. I’ll be back in an hour. You got your knife on you?”

“Yeah Dean, always do,” Sam replies, and holds up his pocketknife.

“Good. Lock the door. I’ve got a key. If I’m not back in an hour, stay put.” Sam nods solemnly; he knows the drill.

Dean nods, mostly to himself. He unlocks the door and with one last glance, exits the motel room, letting the door shut behind him. He takes out his key and locks it and then shoves his key and his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It only takes him a few minutes to get across the parking lot and down the road, en route to the park near the motel. It’s halfway to the school that Sam attends—for now—and about a third of the way to the high school. Sam’s excited to be graduating from fifth grade this year, while Dean is stuck in the ninth grade. It sucks, but at least Sam’ll be old enough to defend himself soon. Then, he can stop worrying and actually go somewhere or do something. He’s sick of constantly hanging around motel rooms and sticking close because he’s so worried that a rougaru will eat his little brother. Even now, he feels guilty for leaving because the last time he did, a shtriga had nearly killed Sam—and that was on him.

After a few minutes of walking, he finds himself standing over a lone park bench. After contemplating it for a few seconds, he decides to sit down. After a few minutes of sitting and nervously tapping his foot against the concrete, he decides to take his hands out of his jacket pockets. This only uses up three seconds, and so, he goes back to tapping his foot. He doesn’t know what to do. He glances back at the motel, spotting the neon sign easily. The door to their room, number 7, is locked and the blinds are drawn. He can’t see any movement from here.

He stretches out, pulling his hands above his head and extending his feet in front of him. He lets out a small sigh and is about to stand up when he feels someone make contact with his foot. He pulls his foot back and is on his feet in seconds, hands ready for a fight. But it isn’t a monster: just a girl.

It takes him a second to realize this, and by then, the girl has caught her balance. Her brown hair sways as she hops from one foot to the other and then turns to face him.

“Sorry,” he says. He shifts from one foot to another awkwardly and then shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Didn’t see you,” he adds, hoping that this might clarify the situation.

“You’re that new kid, right?” she asks, giving him an imperceptible look. Dean leans back unconsciously, uncomfortable with the weight in her gaze.

“Yeah,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.”

“Samira,” the girl replies. Dean stands there dumbly. “That’s my name.”

“Oh, shit, yeah—I mean, yeah. We’re in a class together, right?” he guesses. There’s no reason she would remember him otherwise.

“Yeah, math. I think you slept through almost all of it on your first day, too,” he replies, giving him a strange look. Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks away. That was two days after dad had come back pretty banged up and Dean had been up for most of the night worrying.

“Yeah, we’d only just gotten into town the day before,” he explains, hoping that this helps. “Moving sucks,” he adds with a laugh.

“Yeah,” she agrees, laughing along. “I’ve moved five times since,” she adds. She looks a little put out by this, which makes sense; after all, no kid wants to keep being jostled around. “But it’s alright. I like it better here.”

“Where’re you from?”

“Afghanistan. I was born there, but my family moved to the states when I was three, so I don’t remember much,” she explains.

“So why do you like it better here then?” he asks, frowning.

“Mostly from what my older sister tells me. She says it’s a lot better here.” She shrugs. “I believe her.” She then pauses and asks: “do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, a younger brother—why?”

“Just curious.” Samira shrugs. “My sister and I always fight over stupid things, like what I want to wear, who I want to see.” She grins and then says: “I don’t think she’d like you very much.” Dean laughs and shrugs, glancing to the motel and then back to Samira.

“I get that sometimes. I’m an unsavory sort, yeah?” Samira laughs.

“Sure, whatever macho boy.” She pauses and then adds: “I should get going. I need to pick up the groceries today. If I’m late, my mom’ll be pissed. I’ll see you in class, okay? Try to stay awake this time.” Dean grins again.

“I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything.” She rolls her eyes.

“Whatever,” she mutters. She waves and then walks away. Dean shrugs and then turns to head back to the motel. As he does so, he catches movement in the corner of his eye, but when he looks, nothing’s there. Sufficiently on edge, he glances back at where Samira had been to check that she’s safe, but she’s disappeared. He contemplates tailing her to double-check, but he knows that it’s a stupid idea. No matter how nice she seems, Sammy is more important. Sammy is always more important.

He tries to walk quickly by taking long strides like his father does, but his legs aren’t quite as long yet. Even though he’s in his ninth year of schooling, he still hasn’t hit that fabled growth spurt. So, he has to scurry back on his stumpy legs.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open in one quick motion. There, he sees Sammy sitting on the bed. He still hasn’t moved since he saw him last. Dean pulls the key out of the lock, throws a glance over his shoulder, and then kicks the door shut. The noise makes Sammy jump and he shoots Dean a glare. Dean rolls his eyes and then turns to deadbolt the door.

He stands in the threshold for a few moments in an attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. He hadn’t realized how agitated he was. He was getting paranoid. After a few seconds of deliberating, he crossed the living room and headed over to the tiny kitchenette. He found a box of cereal and poured himself a bowl. He then went to the fridge and grabbed the milk carton, only to shake it and find that it was empty. He sighs. They forgot to buy more milk when they went out.

“Hey, aren’t we having grilled cheese for dinner tonight?” Sam asks. He eyes Dean’s bowl of dry cereal with caution.

“Yeah,” Dean exhales. Sam frowns and then gets up off of the bed.

“I’ll make it this time,” Sam says.

“Thanks Sam.” Dean gives Sam a crooked grin and Sam grins back at him.


End file.
